Base of Amon Obel
The forest thins out somewhat, spreading at the base of a large hill, the larger trees giving way to younger ones. The pathway widens heading gradually upwards to the crest of Amon Obel to the west. The hillside is covered with long grasses waving in the breeze, and dotted with colorful wild flowers.

The morning wanes to afternoon; the crisp, cold air is no longer chilling, but rather refreshes of the sun's broadening rays. Brethil's forest are abundant with color; from trees spring hues of gold, green, orange, amber and red. Even the browns are rich in their cast, and as the trees shed their tresses of leaves, there is more of sunlight to kiss the loamy earth beneath them. Two figures round the pathway that completes the downward trek of the hill. The one that walks ahead is tall, dark of hair and grey of eyes. A Dorthonion, easily recognised, whose light steps seem grateful for the levelling ground as she slows her pace and adjusts the satchel slipping from her shoulder. "There is so much color!" she exclaims, looking back over her shoulder as she waits for Sionell to join her in step. "It is far more than I am used to seeing. It is as if the very woods are afire and cannot be quench by else but starlight." She casts a glance upwards, reaching to pluck a leaf from the tree. But it, clinging yet, releases its hold reluctantly and the waving branch in turn showers few less-tenacious of its leaves.

Not far from the main path, gazing stonily out into the myriad of changing colors that is the Forest of Brethil at this time of year, is a tall, serious looking fellow. Although lightly armed with an axe and nothing that bespeaks of armor, he stands much like a warrior or someone who is used to seeing rough people and events.

It is Reynulf, the relatively new Warden of the Hill -- it wasn't long ago, maybe no more than a year ago that his father, Randid, departed from the post and left his hawk-nosed son in charge of keeping the peace. It isn't often that he's out beyond the walls of AO, but... today, it might be that he intends to catch a glimpse of fabled bandits, or silly carpenters who make up stories.

Thinking that the messenger was no more than a pace or two behind her, Aldawin seems a bit surprised when after a moment of waiting Sionell does not follow nor appear anywhere in sight. "Sionell?" she calls, retracing her steps and shielding her eyes from the sun. In her attention to what is in back of her rather than what is before her, Aldawin misses a glimpse of the tall Warden- half-hidden of the trees about the winding trail, and the former goes about waiting for her friend to arrive.

Still unmoving, and quite dour, the Warden barely blinks as Aldawin comes into view. Taking a breath, he furrows his brow for a long moment in decision -- is it his place to notify the lady of her friends departure? Then, with an imperceptable shrug, he says from the brush, "Do you look for your friend? She turned up the path there and disappeared behind those trees."

Turning suddenly at the voice, the healer's eyes widen in both inquiry and surprise. "Ahh, I did not see her go back up...nor did she tell me," she utters in slight confusion. For a moment, Aldawin seems to study the man before her. "Th-thank you," she utters with a vague smile, replacing the satchel's strap over her shoulder. "I am Aldawin," she next offers, her brows furrowing as if in thought.

The Warden looks upon Aldawin with a steely gaze, quiet and probing with faint curiousity. After a silent once-over, he nods and states, "You are one of our Dorthonion visitors." He takes a breath and glances back up the trail where Sionell disappeared before gazing back to Aldawin. His eyes seem to weigh themselves upon the healer, before he says, "I am Reynulf. Pleased to meet you."

Upon the Warden's introduction, the Beorian healer's wary stance relaxes a bit, and she gives a nod with a growing smile to Haladin. The grey eyes seem to study him more, though not in any challenging way, as she returns, "Aye, tis a pleasant day, and one I should like to enjoy away from the hill of an afternoon. Though not too far away, I suppose." This last is offered with a slight chuckle, and a good measure of disappointment.

For a brief moment, at mention of 'away from the hill', the Warden's eyes flicker over towards the interior of the woods. As he does so, his mouth seems to thin. Quietly, he says, "I would not advise for you to go too far out, miss. There have been rumours of dreadful bandits out that way. They've even gone so far as... bamboozling our local carpenter out of his horse and wagon. How they managed to do that, I haven't the faintest of ideas... only that sometimes he's a lackwit. By all accounts, they seem to be a rather disorganized and cowardly lot."

Aldawin nods at the start of the warden's words, though as he makes mention of a stolen cart and horse of the carpenter, her expression turns to surprise, and an audible breath can be heard as she draws a step closer to the other. "Falsten the carpenter?" she wonders, concern causing her features to dim noticeably. "Is he alright? And yes...I have heard of these ruffians, and been given express caution against wandering very far from the pathway at the base, here, without escort..." The healer's voice trails softly, and with an inquiring gaze she looks to the other. "Have you business in dealing with these bandits?" she asks then.

A snort, and the Warden turns away to gaze menacing into the Wood, "Aye... yeh. That peawit is alright. Lucky thing too, because he didn't even know he was being burglarized until after the fellows made off with his cart. He's lucky they didn't stick a knife into his gullet." The stonefaced man gives his head a slow, sorry shake. "So... he was bade to stay within the hilltop until this whole mess can be cleared up."

Turning back to Aldawin, Reynulf purses his lips, "They become more bold. I am surprised that the Woodland Wardens haven't found them yet. Before long, it'll be me that will have to deal with them as they camp right on my front gates."

Rounding her steps so she draws yet nearer to the Haladin, Aldawin questions, "You shall have to deal with it? Are you then one of the Wardens?" she wonders, and draws a hand up to move aside the hair that crowds the side of her face, just starting to get a inkling of the meaning behind the man's mannerisms.

"Aye," comes the dour reply to Aldawin. "Aye, that I am. Warden of the Hill, as was my father before me, as was his father before him." Reynulf's hands fold themselves across his chest as he turns his gaze away from Aldawin and to the brilliantly colored wood. "Have you a complaint?"

Following the Warden's gaze, directed as it is towards the wood, Aldawin is quick to reply, "Nay, I've no complaints to give. And as I have not yet met these bandits, myself, I count it fortunate, having instead the pleasure of meeting boar and viper in the woods recently." The tone of the healer suggests she has been anything but pleased, and once again, a chuckle confirms her words. "Yet I know there are those who seek for these men, and question why they are so bold as to attack so close to the Hill. There are those among my people who seek them as well." she adds, and once again her gaze turns to interest.

"Certainly, you should not be hazarding yourselves, though," says Reynulf. "You are our guests, and it isn't fitting for you to be defending our woods for us." There is a tone of appreciation to the man's words, as well as an underlying current of regret.

Aldawin smiles faintly at the man's words, looking down to the leaf still held in her hand. "Aye, we are guests," she agrees. "But 'tis hard for us as it is for you to allow such things to pass without some action upon our part. Those who do seek to put an end to it are rangers and scouts as well." She brings the grey gaze to Reynulf, smiling softly once again. "Displaced as we are, we must have something to do..."

"We are slow to react," admits, Reynulf, "But such is our culture. When things are far away... beyond the walls, or beyond the rivers, often our folk duck their heads. It is someone else who suffers, not us. Let them take care of it." A slow frown forms upon the man's face, and a sad glint touches his eye. He waves a hand towards the hill, "It is very easy for most to feel this way behind a wall."

"But, not all of us are so, however," continues the Warden, "But there are far too few of us that are concerned to scour every inch all of the time, and forsake our duties in the process."

Aldawin considers the Warden's words with the continued furrowing of her brow. "Whether it comes sooner or late, we all discover that there is no complete escape of that which we attempt to avoid or ignore, but which exists." The gaze once again drops downwards to look upon the leaf which she turns slowly in her hands. "I am glad to have met you, Reynulf," she says with a dip of her head. "I must travel along the path aways for some herbs. There are not many days left before the winter, really. And I must fill all the stores I may before it comes." She lets the leaf drop, and it spirals in a swift fall to the ground. "Good day," is uttered, as the healer's steps carry her along the path and under the brilliant canopy of gold.

With little noise to betray her approach, save the slight crunching of brittle leaves beneath her feet, another figure comes into view. The wind tugs fitfully at the edges of the grey cloak , so favoured by the lass and though Sionell holds the mantle closely against her, it is naught against the wind's unrelenting pull and teasing play. In her hands, their petals gaily blowing away merrily, in the stiff breeze, are the remnants of wildflowers gathered from the morning's walk . Still, a glimpse of dew scattered amidst the fine petals can be seen, though for now most have dwindled to a few stems, the wilted heads of the blooms sagging in the heat. Yet, neither the warmth of the midday sun nor the annoying gusts of wind would deter the lass as she picks her way with aimless abandon through the colourful leaf pattern tapestry , carpeting the forest floor. Feeling a bit blown like one of the leaves herself, a slightly sheepish grin plays upon her lips as the wind buffets her about, the petals scattering all the more as a result.

Much like the great trees that surround the mountain of Amon Obel, Reynulf stands as a sentry at the base of the path, leading up towards the town itself. In his dark overcoat, and with his heavy axe at his side, he seems very much like the tall, strong trees that grow here. His face, like the cold wind on the treebark, is a cool mask -- watching the swirling leaves and colors, and anticipating a glimpse of these renegade bandits, or perhaps hearing the cry of someone in need.

It is during this watchful search, that his eyes fall upon the merily wandering Sionell. As she moves like the leaves, the Warden is drawn to her whirling motions... but, it isn't until she is is close enough does he hail her and expose his position. "Good day," he calls out in quiet, but carrying voice.

Weaving her way amidst the fallen leaves, the grass bends unprotestingly against the messenger's step , irregardless of how meandered or drunken they may seem. Futile is it to fight the playful gusts, the lass give way at last, whirling and twirling, every tug pulling her first in one direction and then the other, before she at last finds momentary refuge beneath the spreading boughs of a shady birch. Huffing at the fiery wisps falling into her eyes , the tall stranger is not quite noticed by the messenger, so intent is the grey gaze of the measly plants hanging from her balled fist. It is not, till the greeting is called that Sionell at last turns her head, plucking a strand of hair from her mouth as she looks to the man, with surprise. "Ah Good morn!" The cheerful greeting is offered though quiet in tone and the pale eyes fall upon the shrubs, in her hands sheepishly. So weedlike, in the semblance of stalks they present hardly a picture of what they once were.

The booted feet shift slightly, uncomfortably almost as she lets her gaze draw slowly across the face of the other, a face all together unfamiliar. Not one to cast caution to the wind, she quirks a brow, regarding him cooly. The slight twitch of her lips and sudden narrowing of the sharp gaze would, read suspicion, and so she bides her silence. Watching , staring, observing.

Like the messenger, Reynulf is beset by several gusts of winds and his overcoat begins to flap just a bit. Although he wears no armor, he is dressed for the elements and his heavy dark overcoat gives a hint at just how cold Brethil can become during the winter seasons.

Just as coolly, the man watches the messenger for several beats. Then he nods to her and lets his gaze shift off towards the trees and the woods. In an offhand manner, and just as somber and calm, he asks of the Messenger, "Are you Sionell?"

"That I am, " is the somewhat disconcerted answer, and she tweaks a leaf from settling onto her shoulders with the light flick of a finger. "Who might you be....may I ask ..Sir?" The surprise displayed in the widened eyes is quick to recover as she studies the adan curiously, as if trying to acsertain his presence. Bandit, or no? The eyebrows arch sharply in question, and the messenger tilts her head sideways, before she lets her gaze scour the trail from which she had just come, with indolent interest. "Was someone looking for me?" The tone, is polite and civil betraying little of the suspicious air writ so plainly in her grey eyes.

"Indeed," comes the quiet, solomn reply. Casually, the man shifts pulling his gloved hand's free from the overcoat's pockets. For a few moments, Reynulf blinks at Sionell, before he says, "Another Dorthonion, as yourself, was calling out for you when I met her last. One called, Aldawin I believe? A healer, for she was looking for herbs."

He pauses, "Would you know this lass?"

His mention of the Healer from Ladros, does bring a slight smile to touch her lips and Sionell nods, quickly. "Aye I know her, well indeed. " She manages a somewhat rueful twist to the smile, before it vanishes just as quickly as it apppeared. "I was...helping her. I did not realise she had gone so far ahead, there were so many plants and I knew not which to pick. " She frowns, the quiet gaze dropping once more to the stalk like foliage in her hands, before she continues. "So I picked as much as I could..but there is little left now." A sigh, ensues before she stops herself, the flow of words curbed by the sudden flicker of her eyes as she regards the Haladin warily. Babbling away to a stranger, one whose name she yet has no knowledge of. Only the most keen of eyes would discern the imperceptible shifting of her stance, the slight shifting of weight , the booted foot that dug slightly into the earth with nervous apprehension. "I will see her soon enough. I expect.."she adds, hastily . "Yet...you have not told me what is your name. I suppose there is a good reason for that...tis albeit unfair it would seem. You know mine after all."

The stony faced man quirks a slight smile before it disappears behind his solomn countanance. "I am Reynulf," replies the man, "Warden of the Hill, Amon Obel." He nods his head to Sionell before continuing, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Yet the name given held little consolation for the lass and her gaze continued to rest on the adan with seeming unease. "A pleasure to meet yours likewise, Mi'lord" she says politely enough, giving credence to her words with a slight dip of her head. A moment of hesitation seems to seize her then, for the smile that had just briefly displayed itself so fleeting appeared again and with a tone, lowered and echoing of its incredulousness, she adds. "Are you sure you are a Warden?" An embarrassed cough floats upwards from her throat, at her own question. "I do not wish to offend...but there are some who have passed themselves as such and I would like to be certain this time."

The man raises an eyebrow, and then chuckles in a low tone, his eyes sparkling merrily for the briefest of moments. "Aye," replies, Reynulf, "I am quite sure. As was my father before me, and his father before him." After saying so, he glances down towards the front of his overcoat, and says, "Alas, however, there is little badge of office... but, aye. I am a loyal man of Lord Halmir through and through, ma'am. You should have little fear."

"Ah then, my fears are dissuaded..."murmers, the lass still looking albeit embarrassed. "As long as you have no friends called Harnard or Benwolf...I believe you" Her tone, though quiet rings of mirth now and the gaze though cautionary is relieved of suspicion, or so it would seem. Instead, she chuckles along with him, or mostly at herself giving the long grasses a slight swipe with the side of her boot. "And what of the swin-- er, the bandits?" The words seem to bubble out of her mouth with sudden eagerness, though the quietness with which they were uttered might tell otherwise. Yet, there is curiousity in her gaze and energy behind the quest, her eyes gleaming . "Have you any news, Mi'lord?"

"Harnard and Benwolf?" wrinkles Reynulf's brow, "Nay... I have not heard those names before myself. I take it that they are names to speak ill of?"

To her question of the bandits, however, he has little to add. "None," replies the Warden, returning to his solomn air. "I am sorry to say it, but my brother Wardens that call the Wood their domain are not doing their job. I would even venture to say that these Bandits are becoming incresingly bold, coming even closer to Amon Obel itself."

Sionell nods, a look of distaste touching her features at having to utter the names yet again. "Ill indeed Mi'lord and unmannerly they are both, Benwolf the worst of them all." Her words are soft and solemnity wraps each as it is uttered from her lips. "They are two of the rogues that have been waylaying goodly citizens..."she ventures as if in explaintion, the frown settling on her lips . "I wonder how long it will be before they are caught. With winter fast approaching , they may venture into Amon Obel...for shelter and supplies perhaps." Her cursory gaze sweeps the woods quietly, taking in the tall statley trees and undulating ground. "The woods may not be all that accomadating during the cold months.."

"Your words hold wisdom, Miss Sionell," agrees Reynulf. Pausing, he glances towards the path, and then up towards the sky and the cool sun. Finally, he nods and says, "Thank you for your time, Sionell." Leaning slightly towards the Messenger, he lifts an arm and points down the path before quietly saying, "If you wish to seek, Miss Aldawin, then she made her way down that direction."

The Warden straightens and then nods curtly, "I must return and perform my rounds... especially around the tavern." The end of his lips quirk up into a mirthless smile, "About now... many of the workers will be taking a break, with the intent on blowing off frustration in places they shouldn't." The smile fades, "Again, it was a pleasure, Miss Sionell. Good day."

"Thank you Sir Renulf. Good day to ye" murmers the lass, a slight tinge of amusment touching her grey eyes at the mention of unruly workers. She offers a slight smile, diping her head as if to solidify the parting with her customary ways. The edges of the grey cloak are grasped between clutching fingers and the weeds held tentatively in her grasp as she steps from the boughs towards the path. Her grey eyes roam ahead, though she does pause a moment, giving a backwards glance over her shoulder before continuing on her way, a faint tune hummed under her breath.